


the bear

by ernestdummkompf (JehanFerres)



Series: stand with me, we'll fight the war [1]
Category: Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: (IT'S NOT hes a good and sweet boy), M/M, abt dolokhov doing. idk. War Stuff, also i had to make up a first name for zherkov, and a patronym, anyway this is the start of a series, being the worst, it was basically "what name can dolokhov turn into the most Mortifying Nicknames" tbh, ok nobody other than me cares about zherkov thats ok, theres a dog in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/ernestdummkompf
Summary: Dolokhov had always had a natural way with dogs.





	the bear

**Author's Note:**

> so zherkov's full name is (for my reference AND yours) emil gavriilovich zherkov. this is partly bc i headcanon that dolokhov is a big fan of using embarrassing diminutive nicknames but emil was a fairly new name at that stage so he'd have to make them up himself but also...it sounds cool. leave me in peace. he needed a name and hes in no other fanfic.
> 
> for those wanting to know who zherkov... is, he's a hussar who was friends with dolokhov before dolokhov got demoted. he first shows up in volume two, making fun of a field marshal while standing behind him to make a general laugh.

There was a ridge ahead of where the Russian army were camped. Usually, Dolokhov wouldn’t get out of bed after he had already gone, for one reason or another, but for some reason he had found himself unable to sleep, no matter how hard he tried. It was, he reckoned, around two in the morning, and he found himself increasingly restless – and increasingly frustrated.

The two men sharing his tent, officers of the same rank as Dolokhov with no particularly interesting attributes between them, had both fallen asleep just as soon as their heads hit the pillows, leaving Dolokhov to stare up at the canvas roof of the tent. So, when he was beginning to let the idea of setting fire to the letters he had been writing to Hélène and Anatole arrive in his head, he managed to slip out without either of them waking.

It was about a mile up to the top of the ridge, and it gave Dolokhov a good view of the encampment. Entirely dark and silent except for a few lookouts and small fires, Dolokhov thought that nobody would guess at what was going on there – an army preparing for war.

There was a noise in the undergrowth, just a few metres from where Dolokhov stood.

At first, his left hand went to his sword, but then he rethought, pulling his pistol slowly from where it was holstered against his left thigh. He could see nothing in the darkness, but he felt certain that a loud noise like a gunshot, even if it didn’t scare away who or whatever was lurking in the undergrowth, would call attention to him and he wouldn’t be alone to defend himself for too long.

With as much subtlety as he could muster, Dolokhov pushed aside a low-hanging branch that was pressing against his neck as he tried to pass through to investigate the sound further, and saw two pairs of eyes trained on him. This would have been unremarkable, even though one of the pairs of eyes was at a far lower level than the other, and Dolokhov would have laughed and told the two to be on their way and not let their commanding officer catch them at it had they both been human.

Yes, one of them was human, and he looked distinctly frightened, which didn’t change even when Dolokhov returned his pistol to its holster. The other pair belonged to a large dog that Dolokhov had seen skulking around the camp. The soldiers had been feeding it even though it was just about big enough to kill a man with a single bite if it wanted to.

Dolokhov, and all the other non-commissioned officers, had turned a blind eye to this until just this minute. It wasn’t a vicious dog, so nobody was particularly interested in trying to kill it, either, and a few of the men seemed to consider it a mascot.

Still, Dolokhov had always had a natural way with dogs.

He crouched down and clucked his tongue over his teeth, holding his hands out where the dog could see them and, as though it was aware of the difference in their sizes (Dolokhov was not a tall man), the dog padded slowly up to him and sniffed at his hands. When it ascertained that Dolokhov had no food for it but that he might well make a fuss of it, the dog knocked him back against the tree with its large, bear-like muzzle, and snuggled up to him.

The other man looked mid-way between horrified and amused, and wavered between staying with his back pressed against the tree and going over to investigate the dog, since he could see now that it posed no threat, at least not to Dolokhov.

“Get off now, you great bear,” Dolokhov grumbled when the dog started licking his face and neck. He pushed the dog off him and onto its back, rubbing its exposed belly with his left hand while the dog carried on licking his right hand, clearly thrilled to receive the attention which it was starved for. “He’s quite safe,” Dolokhov said, slipping his arms under the dog’s chest and hauling it up onto his lap as though to demonstrate. “Just hungry and stupid.”

The dog wagged its tail excitedly when the other man came, tentatively, over and knelt beside it and Dolokhov, burying one hand in its thick fur. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Dolokhov asked, still fussing over the dog.

“Shouldn’t you?” the other man responded, raising his eyebrows the slightest bit.

Realising that there was no way he could respond and keep his dignity intact with a massive dog lying on him, Dolokhov twitched his head slightly to one side. “That’s fair.”

“Does he have a name?” the other man – a Private, Dolokhov realised when he looked at his uniform – asked, to break the silence.

“Mishka, I suppose,” Dolokhov said, although this was only because he had been calling the animal Mishka and not because that was officially its name. “…Do you?” He had never been good at small-talk.

“…Yes.” It took the other man a moment to pick up on the question. “Oh. Emil Zherkov, I’m a Pri–”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Dolokhov grumbled, having had quite enough of military talk the past few days to last him a lifetime. Zherkov seemed to accept this, and fell silent for a moment, letting the dog lick his hands instead of talking to him. When Dolokhov decided that enough awkward silence had passed and the dog stopped making noise, he turned back to Zherkov. “Fyodor Dolokhov,” he said. He didn’t offer his hand, as the dog was still slobbering all over it.

A vague look of realisation briefly crossed Zherkov’s face, left, and then returned. “You’re…?” He blinked.

Dolokhov nodded sagely, hiding a cocky smile.

Zherkov tipped his head to one side. Dolokhov knew exactly what he was about to say. “I thought you’d be taller.”

Fortunately, he had come up with at least a mildly amusing response to give to this. “Stand up?” he said, in a casual tone of voice. Zherkov, looking puzzled, did so. Dolokhov stared at him for a long moment. “And I thought you would be shorter.”

Just as Zherkov opened his mouth to respond, Mishka leaped up and knocked him back to the ground. “…But now, we are even,” Dolokhov said, with a smug look. But he still relented and pulled Mishka from Zherkov before Zherkov lost consciousness – not because Mishka was aggressive but because he weighed a lot.


End file.
